


A Star to Choose

by firesign10



Category: Angel: the Series, NCIS
Genre: Conversations, Gen, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesign10/pseuds/firesign10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gibbs has a lot on his mind when he stops in a local water hole for a drink, and meets the substitute bartender, Fred Burkle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Star to Choose

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the December 2013 round of Into a Bar on LiveJournal! Thanks to the community for hosting this new round. Thanks to Pipisafoat and Tolakasa for their speedy betas!

 

Gibbs had had an exasperating day. The MCRT was slogging its way through an unsavory case of sexual abuse, blackmail, and privilege, and he'd had his fill of cruelty and craveness. As he drove out of the Navy Yard, he decided to stop at a favorite watering hole a few streets over and take the edge off the day. Perhaps a glass or two of bourbon in comfortable surroundings would help remove the foul taste in his mouth.

After parking his Charger in the small lot behind the bar, Gibbs walked around the building to the front door. He pulled on the heavy wood and glass door and immediately found himself in a warm room filled with dark wood tables and chairs arranged haphazardly under amber lights. Booths upholstered in dark red vinyl ran along the two side walls, and a big wooden bar filled the back wall. A pool table sat in the front, but no one was playing tonight. The booths were mostly occupied, but only a third of the tables had customers.

Gibbs walked up to the bar and claimed a stool, sitting down with a sigh. He rested his feet on the bottom rung of the stool and looked for the bartender. She came right over to him, gave him a big smile and asked "What'll it be?"

He looked at her with surprise. She was a slight, little thing, with thin shoulders. Straight brown hair poured down her back from the neat ponytail she'd caught it in. Large eyes dominated her oval face, further defined with a wide mouth and pointed chin. In the subdued light of the bar, he couldn't see what color her eyes actually were, but they regarded him with warmth and friendliness.

"Where's Burt?" Gibbs asked, since the usual bartender here was easily three times older and a hundred pounds heavier than this slip of a young woman.

"He's away visiting his grandkids for a few days. He and my dad are pretty close, so I offered to cover the bar for him while I'm out here doing some research. What can I get you?" She set a fresh bowl of pretzels on the bar for him.

"Bourbon. Double. Neat."

"Oh, dear, that sounds like a bad day," she said sympathetically as she flipped a lowball over and filled it halfway with bourbon. "No ice?"

"Nah," Gibbs replied. "Happy just to have a glass." She cocked an eyebrow at him, and he felt compelled to explain. "Mostly I drink in my basement, and it's usually the morning's coffee mug or one of the jars the nails are kept in."

She shuddered. "No offense, but that sounds pretty grim!"

He shrugged in return. "The nails adds a certain . . . something to the bourbon." He took a long sip, relishing the liquor's heat. "I will admit, not necessarily a _good_ something." He couldn't help grinning a bit at her. She grinned back.

She was called away to fill some drink orders, and Gibbs slowly sipped his bourbon. He was just contemplating another when she returned, bottle in hand, and offered a refill. He nodded and pushed the glass to her, watching as she deftly poured the golden liquid into the glass.

"Fred," she said, and stuck her hand out to him.

"Jethro," he said, and shook it. "Fred?"

"Winifred, actually, but that's some prissy girl wearing a high neck dress," she said with a laugh. "Fred is much more . . . me!" Fred got herself a beer, and they clinked glass to bottle.

"You said you're out here doing research? Where from? What kind of research?"

"California. L.A., actually. I work for a private detective, but I'm also finishing up my doctorate in physics. I came out to look at some papers at the Library of Congress that are very particular to my dissertation. I should have finished it by now, but I . . . I had to take a trip unexpectedly a year or so ago, and it set me back quite a bit. I'm hoping to finish in a few months and publish. Then you can address me as Dr. Winifred Burkle, Ph.D." She smiled and brushed imaginary lint off her imaginary lapel.

"That's great," Gibbs said, toasting her with his glass. "Where did you go on your trip?"

"Oh, no place you've ever heard of . . . I hadn't ever heard of it before either, but it just kind of happened. Some name with a lot of vowels. It wasn't very pleasant, truth be told, but fortunately I was rescu — uh, I was able to return and get back to work. Then I started working at Angel Investigations, and that's where I've been ever since!"

"Private detective? Do you actively participate in the investigations?" 

"I do some investigating. I handle a lot of the research and things like that, but I do go out on information calls, sometimes do a little undercover work. When you look like I do, people constantly underestimate who and what you are. It's annoying in real life, but it's handy for getting people to talk to you, you know?" She looked at him quite seriously. He'd bet his favorite adze that people underestimated her all the time.

"People are frequently stupid." He studied her. "You're about as far from stupid as can be." He tapped the side of his nose.

She blushed and managed to look like a schoolgirl, but the intelligence in her face was unmistakable to Gibbs. He'd spent a lot of years learning to read faces, and Fred was a fascinating study.

"Now stop that, you're making me feel self-conscious!" She reached over the bar and gently smacked the back of his head. Gibbs couldn't restrain a snicker. "What?" she asked. "Did I cross a line? I used to do that to my dad all the time, when he got fresh."

"No, not at all," said Gibbs. "Just — it's usually me doing the smacking, not being smacked. Found it pretty amusing."

"And who is it you're head-smacking, Jethro? Everyone around you, or . . ." She looked intently at him again. "No, not everyone. Just one, right? There's only one person you smack. And not for being stupid."

"Nope, not for being stupid," he agreed, taking a sip. "Smart as a whip, that one. Just needs to be . . . redirected sometimes. Gets a little distracted."

"Distracted, huh? And maybe . . . he's distracting too?" She winked at Gibbs.

It was one of the rare times Gibbs found himself speechless. How had she . . .? He cleared his throat. "Don't know what you mean." His voice came out rougher than he meant it to.

"Oh, okay — that's how it is, is it? Let's see, D.C., so . . . don't ask, don't tell? Even with DOMA struck down? Or is it more that you . . . haven't opened that door yet?" She patted his hand gently. "I'm sorry if I'm being presumptuous, and I'm not going to push someone out before they're ready. Never mind me and my runaway babbling."

Gibbs was transfixed by the softness playing across her face. She meant every word, and her sincerity touched him. Maybe . . . maybe she was someone he could talk to about it for a bit. She didn't know him, his position, his history packed with untidy baggage. She only knew this moment, these words right here. Could he? 

"No, you're right," he said quietly. "It's a he. I just — I haven't really admitted it to myself, much less anyone else. I've been married three times, had a child. I've always dated, slept with women. Yet I now find myself thinking about this man all the time. It's . . . confusing."

She was quiet a moment for a moment, then spoke softly. "People think that they are only one thing or the other, but really? It's much more fluid than simply choosing the opposite sex. It's who the person is — the rest is just the wrapping." She took a pull on her beer. "Does he know?"

Gibbs shook his head. He had barely been able to admit his attraction over the last several weeks. _Tell_ the object of his affection about that affection? No, no, that wasn't going to happen.

Fred's hand slipped over his. The warmth was so lovely, it made his breath catch in his throat. "Yeah, that's what I thought. When's the last time someone touched you, Jethro? Besides a doctor? How many nights do you go home alone, drink bourbon by yourself in that basement out of the nail jar? I bet you're the best of the best at your job — and that everyone is a little afraid of you. Everyone . . . but him. He's not afraid, is he?"

Gibbs shook his head again. "No . . . not of me. He's a crack investigator. Pretends to be a clown, wears a thousand masks, but he's smart. Brave. Heart of a lion." He rubbed his free hand over his face. "I can't imagine . . . saying something." He stopped to clear his throat, emotion clogging his words. "But I'm so tired of being alone."

She picked up the hand she'd been soothing, cradled it between her own. "Jethro, we've just met. I like to think I have a good bit of intuition, especially given the . . . experiences I've had. Maybe I'll tell you some wild stories one day. But right now, I'm telling you that shit happens." She studied him. "Your eyes tell me you know that. We go down the road of life all hunky-dory and then it changes in a split second." She looked away for a moment, but returned her gaze to Gibbs, her eyes now haunted. She continued. "That trip I took — it wasn't by choice. I was . . . taken. And it was terrible. I was held captive for months. I wasn't raped or mutilated, but it was horrible. And then I got rescued, long after I'd given up hope. It took me a long time to adjust to being back home. And I have, don't get me wrong. My life is good now. But I learned a lot of things, and one of them — one was don't hold back. Jethro, if there is someone you love, that you think could love you, I beg you — tell him. Find out. It's too important to miss."

Gibbs sat frozen, her words wrapping tightly around him. Fred went to the other end of the bar to fill more drink orders, but Gibbs couldn't move. A collage of images passed in front of him: a tall man with a charming smile entering the bull pen; the same man yelling as he ran and fired a gun; the man lying in a hospital bed under blue lights. Fred was right, and she didn't know the half of it. Didn't know the constant danger and risk of being on the top NCIS team, seeking out the worst criminals and scum, playing fast and loose with their very selves. What if the unthinkable did happen? Look at Kate - she was there and then she was gone, lying dead on that roof as her vacant eyes stared up into the sky. What if that happened again? Then there'd never be a chance at all. 

And that path seemed so terribly empty. Gibbs' fear dwindled by comparison to that awful emptiness.

Fred returned, the sparkle back in her eye. "Another? Or is it time to call it quits?"

Gibbs stood up. "It's time, all right. Time to face the truth. And the truth is that I'm in love with a man. He's my Senior Agent, my Saint Bernard. He's always got my back, no matter what. And I think it's time he knew what he means to me." He went around the end of the bar and reached a hand out to Fred. She took it and came out to where he stood, tilting her head to look up at him. She was tiny, but she too had the heart of a lion. Gibbs enfolded her in his arms, holding her close. His nose was tickled by her hair, and she smelled like vanilla and raspberry. "Thank you," he whispered in her ear. "Thank you for showing me what I needed to see. I think that Kelly would have been a little like you."

"You're welcome," she murmured back. She gently pulled away and smiled at him, patting him on the chest. "Go get your man, Jethro."

He let go of her and stepped back, reaching for his wallet. She pushed his hand away. "Don't be silly. It's on the house."

Gibbs smiled again at her before turning to leave. As he walked out of the bar and around to his car, he felt a lightness suffusing his step — his entire being, for that matter. He finally got it — he finally understood the risk of trying was outweighed by the risk of never trying at all. And by God, he was going to try. Leroy Jethro Gibbs was not a coward.

He stopped outside his car and looked up at the sky. Even with the ambient city light of D.C., he could see stars twinkling above him. "I wish I may, I wish I might, upon this star I wish tonight," he whispered, his eyes fixed on a particularly bright one. He remembered Kelly saying that as she sprawled on a blanket spread in the backyard, counting stars during a backyard camp-out. A smile spread across his face as he got his keys out. Then he fished his phone out and punched a number in. He brought the phone to his ear and waited as it rang.

"Gibbs? Is everything okay? Did we catch a case?"

"Everything's fine, Tony. Listen — I know it's late, but mind if I stop by for a minute?"


End file.
